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Later that day
(Pronouns used for Loki: he/him)
"Hello, Prince Loki." Njal greeted with a respectful nod, his voice calm, yet carrying a note of competitiveness. "Hello, Prince Njal. Shall we go?" Loki asked, his tone even but firm, signaling that the match was about to begin. Njal, ever so composed, nodded in return and followed closely behind.
The two princes walked toward the terrace next to the training room, the cool air of the evening sweeping around them. Loki shed his coat, allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft thud. He stood in his green tunic and black pants, feeling the familiar shift in his muscles. He bent down to remove his boots, his bare feet making contact with the smooth stone of the terrace floor. Stepping forward, he approached the weapons' stand with intent, picking up two spears—one for himself and one for Njal.
Loki had never been known for his physical prowess, nor was he particularly skilled in combat. His strength lay elsewhere—in wit, magic, and strategy—but today he would face Njal in a sparring match nonetheless. They circled each other for a brief moment before Njal, swift and graceful, moved in. The Vanir prince’s technique was flawless, his movements quick and precise. Within moments, Loki found himself pinned to the agate floor, his spear slipping from his grip with a soft clink.
Panting hard, Loki stared up into Njal’s eyes, still feeling the weight of the Vanir's strength on top of him. There was a strange, almost magnetic energy between them—something unspoken yet undeniable. In that split second, their faces drew closer, and without a word, Njal lowered his lips onto Loki's in a brief but intense kiss. It was soft, fleeting, yet carried a weight that neither of them fully understood.
Njal pulled away, breathing heavily, his eyes still fixed on Loki's face. "It was a great match, your highness," Njal said, his voice a mix of admiration and something more intimate.
Loki, still catching his breath, couldn't suppress a small smile. "You're quite skilled, Prince Njal." He reached out, taking Njal’s offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.
As they finished their dinner together, the evening came to a quiet end, and Loki made his way to his mother's chambers, his mind racing. He lightly knocked on the door before opening it, finding Frigga sitting in a chair, quietly reading a book by the firelight.
"Hello, mother," Loki greeted softly, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him.
Frigga looked up, setting the book aside and offering him a warm, knowing smile. "Hello, Loki. What brings you here this evening?" she asked, her voice gentle and welcoming, sensing that something weighed on his mind.
Loki walked further into the room, his steps slow, as if he was carrying the weight of his decision on his shoulders. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes dark with contemplation. "I need to make my choice tomorrow," he began, his voice laced with uncertainty. "I don’t know who to choose. Sylvie is... extraordinary. She's unlike anyone I've ever met—beautiful beyond measure, and kind in ways that I never thought possible. But then there’s Njal—he’s intelligent, quick-witted, and a formidable warrior." Loki let out a breath, his hands fiddling with the edge of his tunic as he looked down at his lap. "I don’t know what to do, mother. They both offer something different, but I can’t seem to settle on one of them."
Frigga rose gracefully from her chair and moved to sit beside him on the bed. She took his hands into her own, cradling them gently in her lap. As she stroked her thumb over his palm, her voice softened, carrying the weight of wisdom and experience.
"You know, son," she began, her tone contemplative, "we always talk about falling in love. But have you ever thought about it differently? The idea of rising into love? There’s always something about the fall, isn’t there? It’s tied to creation itself—something fundamental in the very nature of it. Love is risky. It’s a gamble. The moment you step forward in any relationship, you take a risk, not knowing if the ground will hold. But you trust that it will. And in love, we give ourselves up. It’s an act of surrender. You give yourself to another person, fully and completely. That is love. It’s not about perfection or finding someone who fits every box—it’s about the leap of faith. The surrender, the trust. That’s where the power lies. And I know, my dear, you’ll make the right choice. Trust yourself."
Loki felt the warmth of her words sink deep into him, the weight of his dilemma slowly easing. He leaned his head against his mother’s shoulder, her presence comforting him like no other. The quiet in the room allowed the weight of her words to settle within him.
"Thank you, mother," Loki whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I think... I think I know who I need to choose."
Frigga smiled softly, running a hand through his hair. "You’ve always known, Loki. You just needed to hear it from yourself." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, offering him the silent reassurance he so desperately needed.
Loki, now feeling a sense of clarity, closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the peace of the moment. Tomorrow would come with its challenges, but for now, he was certain of one thing—he would make the choice that felt right for him.
